The Better Mouse Trap ©

I’m sitting here the other day looking down on Frick telling him how much of a spoiled little fucker he was.
How he is always bugging me to open a new can of food for him all the time even when I just finished opening one up for him that he hasn’t touched yet.

Turns his nose up to it and comes back to scratch at my arm.
It doesn’t start like that.
The LOUD meowing is first.
I guess he is voicing his disapproval like you kid does sometimes when she is getting frozen pizza instead of pizzeria pizza.

When that doesn’t achieve the desired result he begins head butting the side of the couch hoping that might jar me off.
It’s when that, doesn’t work the Ninja claws come out.
Frick’s a student of the scratch and run method.
Coincidentally he runs towards his food bowl.

Most times I ignore him.
Sometimes I tell him to fuck off.
That seems to fuel his efforts though.

But there has been occasion, like this one the other day when I grab the little pecker licker and give him a long winded lecture about the cost of smelly cat food and how I just can throw away food he has decided he doesn’t like any more.
I mean the cat’s only has one tooth, how picky can he get.
He looses that tooth and I’ll have to go out to buy him a Magic Bullet to mash his food.

So I tell him that there is no fucken way he is getting a new can and if he doesn’t like it he can go catch his own dinner.
He just put his head down and walked away.

The next morning he has a dead mouse at the foot of the TV.
I mean, he’s a house cat, where the fuck did the mouse come.
My parents have been saying they think they had a mouse next door but there has been no evidence here of any until Frick brought me this breakfast special.

I take a paper towel and walk next door to my parents place to tell them they were right about the mouse/mice.
I walk into their kitchen and I find Ma Walker with a long poofy duster looking serious about killing a dust bunny and Pa Walker holding a broom like it was a sub machine gun.

I asked them what the fuck they were doing and my mother said a mouse ran across the floor and behind the entertainment center.
So the Walker gang loaded up for dust and was on the prowl.
I told them about how the cat just killed one and showed them the paper towel.
My father nodded his head and said it was my fault because I have a fish tank.
Oh yeah, it like Niagara Falls for mice at my place.

I stood there watching what they were doing.
My father was poking behind everything trying to flush it out so my mother could dust the little fucker away.

I told my father there were some traps he could just buy that would make it a lot easier than going Rambo and Rambina but he was determined to be the great white hunter.
After a few minutes I said I was leaving and exited the kitchen to the back shed.
It was on the outside deck that I heard my mother yell, “There he goes” and then the crashing sound of breaking glass.
I walked back into the kitchen and they were both arguing that it was the others fault for the broken vase; I think it was a vase.

I left them to their finger pointing and came back home to spend the day watching Frick prance around like the king of the beast with his first kill ever.
Yes Frick, you are the perfect mousetrap but I’m still not opening a new can.

Have a nice day

Walker